The Billionaire's Baby Plan / Marrying the Northbridge Nanny: The Billionaire's Baby Plan

She’d completely forgotten it. She unclipped it from her lapel and dropped it off at the desk, then rejoined Rourke where he was waiting. “I didn’t realize you owned the building,” she said, holding out her hand for what seemed the tenth time. “It’s quite an impressive space.”

He glanced around. “It’ll do.” Then he took her hand, as if that was what she’d been waiting for, and tugged her through the doors.

Feeling as if she’d dropped through the looking glass, she couldn’t do anything but follow.

Outside, the breeze had picked up, but the sun had warmed, foretelling a perfectly lovely September day. She caught her skirt with her free hand before it could blow up around her knees. “I’ll contact your assistant to reschedule.”

“No need. Come with me.” He released her hand, and touched the small of her back, directing her inexorably toward a black limo that was parked at the curb.

She tried digging in her heels, but that was about as effective as holding down her skirt against the mischievous breeze, and before she knew it, she was ensconced in the rear of the spacious limousine.

With him.

And what should have felt spacious…didn’t. Not when his thigh was only six inches away from hers and she could smell the heady scent of him. Fresh. Clean. A little spicy.

“Mr. Devlin—”

“Rourke.”

A jolt of nervous excitement whisked through her. Maybe all wasn’t lost, after all.

On the other hand, maybe he was merely planning to drop her at her hotel.

The teeter-totter of possibilities was enough to make her dizzy and answers were the only thing that would solve that. So she obliged him. “Rourke.” Warmth bloomed in her cheeks at the feel of his name on her lips. “Where are you taking me?”

“Greenwich.”

“What? Why?” It would surely take an hour each way, and that was if the traffic didn’t get heavier.

But he just lifted his hand, putting her off as he put his vibrating cell phone to his ear.

She fell silent and sank deeper into the butter-soft leather seat, crossing her arms and kissing goodbye any chance she had of making her flight home on time.

He was still talking, so she reached for her briefcase—at last—and pulled out her own phone, sending a quick message to Ella that she’d need to move back her flight. Again.

Then, leaving that to her trusty assistant, she scrolled through her e-mails—two from Derek which she ignored as surely as she’d ignored his voice mail—and then dropped the phone back into her briefcase in favor of looking out the window.

She was even beyond trying to puzzle out what Rourke was up to, because she just ended up with a headache, anyway.

He stayed on the phone the entire drive—his voice low and steady as he discussed some upcoming media launch—and she found herself struggling against drowsiness. When the car finally turned up a long, winding drive bordered by immaculate lawns and massive shrubs, some still blooming, Rourke finally put away his phone.

They passed an island of tall, slender cypress trees bordering a flowing fountain, then a terraced swimming pool, and after rounding yet another curve in the drive, came to a stop in front of an immense Tudor mansion.

“It’s beautiful.” She couldn’t stop the exclamation when they stepped out of the car. “Who lives here?”

“My mom.” He didn’t head toward the grand entrance, fronted by a dozen wide, shallow stone steps, but instead to a smaller, more unobtrusive door well off to one side.

She hurried after him, her heels clacking against the pavement.

He stopped and waited until she caught up to him, and they went in through the door. “You grew up here?” Her voice echoed a little in the long, empty hall they found themselves in.

“Hell, no.” He reached back and grabbed her hand unerringly—sending a shuddering quake through her that she tried to ignore—then turned and left through another door that led outside onto a stone terrace.

She immediately heard the high-pitched squeal of children’s laughter and Rourke let go of her hand just in time to catch up the little girl who aimed for him with the speed and accuracy of a heat-seeking missile.

It was all Lisa could do not to gape as his face broke into a full-blown smile while he swung the blond-haired imp up in the air, earning another peal of squealing laughter from her. She caught his face between her starfish fingers and pressed a smacking kiss against his lips. “What’d you bring me?”

Rourke laughed outright and hitched the little girl on his shoulder, tickling her knees beneath the short hem of her miniature white tennis dress. “This,” he told Lisa, “greedy little one is my youngest niece, Tanya. Say hello to Ms. Armstrong, munchkin.”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Lisa nearly choked, particularly when Rourke sent her a sidelong look. “Does she look like she’s my girlfriend?”

The little girl’s eyes were just as dark as Rourke’s; a startling contrast considering the golden curls spilling around her head. And they focused on Lisa with an unnerving intensity. “Maybe,” she determined. “But I’m gonna marry Uncle Rourke, anyway. He’s mine.”

Lisa couldn’t help but smile. “I see.”

“I’m five, so I gotta wait a while. But you can still play with him,” Tanya said generously. Her hand patted Rourke’s head as if he was a particularly good pet. “I’m not very good yet.” She pointed toward the tennis court on the far side of yet another swimming pool. There were a half-dozen kids trotting around the court, batting tennis balls back and forth more like ammunition than in any semblance of a real tennis match.

Trying not to blush—because the second Tanya had said play, her uncle had given Lisa a look that left her feeling scorched—she caught at her blowing skirt again and focused anywhere other than on Rourke. “Are those your brothers and sisters?” She nodded toward the other children.

“They’re my cousins. I’m a lonely only,” Tanya said so pathetically that Lisa had to bite back a laugh.

“Lonely my foot,” Rourke chided, lifting her off his shoulder and flipping her heels over head before setting her on her feet. “Where’s your grandma?”

“Aunt Tricia said she hadda sit in the shade with her foot elevatored.” She gestured toward the lagoon-shaped swimming pool where several lounges and chairs were arranged around tables shaded by large beige market umbrellas. If it weren’t for the thick border of trees well off in the distance that were showing faint shades of fall, it would have seemed like the middle of summer.

“Run ahead and tell her I’m here with a guest.”

Tanya immediately turned on her little sneakered feet and raced across the stone courtyard, dashing down the terraced steps and across the lawn toward the pool.

Lisa caught at her drifting skirt again. A rerun of her trousers from the day before would have been smarter. “Rourke, you could have just said you wanted to check on your mother. I would have understood the need to reschedule our meeting.” If anything, his evident concern for his mother made him seem much more human than she’d previously suspected.

“Rescheduling isn’t necessary.”

The teeter-totter was back in full force. “Because.?” She trailed off warily.

“Because I already know what I need to know.” He lifted his hand in a wave when a petite woman appeared from beneath one of the umbrellas and started toward them. “That’s Tricia. Be prepared. She likes bossing everyone around.”

Her jaw tightened. He was being deliberately obscure. “Runs in the family, evidently,” she murmured.

But he just grabbed her wrist and strode off again, pulling her with him whether she wanted to go or not and not releasing her until he met his dark-haired sister and swept her into an unrestrained hug that surprised Lisa all over again.

Then he held out his arm toward Lisa, introducing them. “This is my sister Tricia McAllister. Trish, this is Lisa Armstrong.”

Feeling awkward, Lisa stuck out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Tricia had the same scrutinizing black eyes her brother possessed and they were clearly speculative as she looked from Lisa to Rourke and back again. “And you,” she returned, exchanging a quick handshake before addressing her brother again. “Cara and Lea are bringing lunch down any minute now. It’s so lovely out, I said we had to eat outside. So come say hello to Mother and then pull two more chairs over to her table.” She headed off.

Rourke caught Lisa’s eye. “See?”

“Is she the oldest?”

“Of my sisters, yes.”

Which, she assumed, meant he was older than they were. “Brothers?”

He shook his had. “Until Trish had her third kid—Trey—I was the only guy in the group, save a couple of brothers-in-law.” He wrapped his hand around her elbow, steering her toward the tables beyond which the pool shimmered like pale clouds floating in liquid silver. “Now smile and stop looking like you’re heading to your own execution.”

“I’m sorry. But I feel like I’m intruding here.”

“It’s just family.”

“Right. Your family.” The back of her neck itched. “I’m here on business but they probably think this is social.” At least that was what the speculation on Tricia’s face had indicated.

He lifted an eyebrow. “So?”

“So—” She broke off, her hands flapping uselessly. She’d left the briefcase—along with her means of contact with the outside world—in the limo. And with each step they took, her heels sinking into the still-lush lawn, she felt as if she was getting further away from that familiar world in favor of this resortlike home. “It’s…it’s not.”

“You’ll have your money. All of it. Now relax.” Completely disregarding the shock that had her legs nearly going out beneath her, his steps didn’t hesitate as he continued pulling her toward the others. “Think of us as one happy family.”

Chapter Three

All of it?

Lisa barely heard anything after those three little words. She supposed she must have functioned through the meal—carried from the house by Cara and Lea, who turned out to be Rourke’s other sisters. Rourke sat her across from his mother, Nina. She had one bandaged foot elevated on a second chair, a position that didn’t prevent her from busily working the colorful blanket she was crocheting. Like a general maneuvering her troops, Tricia called in all the children from the tennis courts, directing them around the two other tables even as she tossed out introductions that Lisa had no hope of following.

Not when all of it kept circling in her head, even trumping that ironic “happy family” comment.

He couldn’t have meant it literally. Could he?

Before she knew it, the meal was done, the oddly prosaic plastic plates and utensils disposed of and after being indulgently waved off by Nina Devlin, Lisa found herself walking through an honest-to-goodness hedge maze with Rourke while three of his nieces—Tanya in the lead—raced ahead of them.

“What exactly do you mean by all of it?” she finally asked.

They’d both left behind their jackets at the table. He’d rolled the cuffs of his white shirt up his forearms. Even his tie was gone. And at her abrupt question, he stopped and looked at her. The hedge was tall enough that it couldn’t be seen over, but not so high that it felt claustrophobic. She could hear the high-pitched little-girl voices ahead of them, and still feel the breeze tugging at her chignon and her skirt.

But when he focused his attention on her face just then, they might as well have been locked together, alone, in a four-by-four vault. “I mean all of it,“ he repeated as if she were witless.

Which was pretty much how she felt. Ultimately, the institute needed millions, and the most practical solution—if the least desirable—to that would have been from multiple sources. Not even Ted had really believed that Rourke would consider covering their entire need. “But—”

He lifted a hand, silencing her. “This isn’t up for discussion. I’m willing to invest as much as it takes, but I’ll be the only investor. No others.”

Her blood was zipping through her veins more quickly, excitement making her pulse pound. This was it, then. Truly it.

The answer to a prayer.

“Are you agreeing because of your friendship with Ted?”

“Does it matter?”

She slowly shook her head. “What matters is the institute.”

“Right.” His lips twisted a little. “As it happens, I do want to see Ted and Chance have every opportunity available to them. And Ted won’t leave the institute.”

Her shoes crunched on the smooth gravel of the path as she took two steps one way, then back again. “You asked him?”

His eyes glinted, reminding her needlessly that—indulgent uncle or not—he was a calculating businessman. “Of course.”

She swallowed. Paul had courted Ted and Chance away from San Francisco. With the institute in its currently precarious position, could she blame them if they were courted away from them?

“Ted flatly refused, though,” Rourke added. “Wouldn’t even consider any of the institutions I brought to his attention. Which is good. Because without Bonner and Demetrios I wouldn’t touch this with a ten-foot pole.” His eyes narrowed. “I know the numbers, Lisa. More importantly, I know why.”

He couldn’t possibly know that Derek was the cause. But she knew that before the t‘s were crossed and the i‘s dotted, he’d have a right to know the truth. For now, though, she chose to skirt it. “With such a level of financial commitment, are you expecting to be more hands-on in a functional capacity?”

He looked darkly amused. “Afraid I’m going to want to set up an office next to yours?” They turned another corner of the maze.

“Of course not,” she blithely lied. The Armstrongs ran the Armstrong Fertility Institute. If she had anything to say about it, that was the way it would continue. “Naturally, you’ll want some assurance that your investment is protected, so I—”

“It’ll be protected all right. Just not by my regular presence during your management meetings. I’m not interested in telling you what staff to hire and fire or what sort of patient load every physician should maintain or what research protocols should be followed. The institute already knows all that.”

Given the grim set of his mouth, she wasn’t certain if there was a compliment in there or not.

She was leaning toward not.

“Then what, exactly, do you mean by protection?” The institute had been in successful operation for more than two decades. With the exception of their run of bad press during the past year, the only instance of mismanagement was what they were dealing with now.

Of course that instance was a freaking whopper.

“I mean you.”

She frowned, trying—and failing—to decipher his meaning. “I have no intention of deserting the institute,” she assured him. She’d had plenty of offers in the past few years, offers she’d never taken seriously, because her heart was in Cambridge, firmly entrenched in her family’s calling. “I’ll be there as long as there’s a lightbulb burning.”

He shrugged. “That’s up to you.”

Which left her more confused than ever. But a clatter of gravel heralded the giggling trio as the girls ran past them on their way back out of the maze and Lisa waited until they were gone again before speaking. “We’re talking in circles, Rourke.”

But he didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he closed his hand over her elbow and led her around another corner.

They’d reached the center of the maze where four short benches sat on each side of a square, tiered fountain.

It was charming and very serene.

And without the presence of his nieces, very, very private.

Rourke let go of her elbow and faced her. “I want an heir.”

She did a credible job of hiding her astonishment. “And you want the institute to assist with that? We specialize in IVF but we also have an excellent history with surrogacy.” Or maybe he had a girlfriend that not even little Tanya knew about.

For some reason, her mouth tasted a little acid over that thought.

“I know.”

Relief coursed through her. At least now she felt as if she understood what he was aiming for. He’d said he wanted an heir. A child. They could help to make that come about. “Confidentiality is sacred at the Armstrong Fertility Institute, Rourke. You don’t have to worry about that. And honestly, my brother Paul might want to brain me for saying this, but you don’t have to agree to invest this heavily just to be assured of that. In comparison, those fees would be—” She broke off, shrugging. Because, truly, those fees would be less than minuscule to a man of his significant wealth. “As for the surrogate, if you have someone in mind, our attorney will walk through the entire process with both of you. And if you don’t have someone in mind, we have—”

“I do. You.”

It took her a minute to realize what he’d said.

She pressed her hand to her chest, a disbelieving laugh on her lips. “You want me to be your surrogate?”

“No,” he said evenly. “I want you to be my wife.”

She felt the blood drain out of her head. Disbelief morphed into anger.

Clearly he wasn’t serious. Nothing since she’d stepped into Fare for that farce of a meeting the day before had been serious.

Not to him.

Her hands curled at her sides. “I cannot believe I let myself take this seriously. When, obviously, this is all just a game to you. What is it, Rourke?” She spread her arms. “Do you have some particular ax to grind or are you just bored?”

He ignored her. “I figure a year, maybe two at the outside. That’s comfortable enough to have a child within that time. After which you can go your way and I’ll go mine. The child, of course, will be with me at least half the time. I’m not ignorant that two parents are better than one. If you choose to exercise that role, of course. If not—” He shrugged. “I’ll be just as happy to have him or her full-time. As you’ve seen for yourself there’s plenty of other family around.”

She gaped. “You plan to push this theoretical child off on your mother to care for, just so you can have yourself an heir?”

“Of course not.” He looked impatient. “My mother obviously adores her grandchildren, but I don’t expect her to raise them. My mother lives here, but this is my home.”

“But you have a penthouse in the city.” The glorious penthouse that Sara Beth had raved over nearly as much as she’d raved over Ted, who’d romantically swept her there while he’d been courting her.

“And a lakeside loft in Chicago and a cabin in Colorado and a house on an Oregon cliff. All of which are beside the point. In exchange for your…contribution…the institute will receive all the funds it needs to climb back out of its hole and stay there.”

“How generous.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “If you’re serious—and frankly, I’m having a hard time with swallowing that—what on God’s green earth would lead you to think that I’d be agreeable to this?”

“You told me yourself you’re dedicated to the institute.”

“Dedicated, yes. Insane, no.”

“Then when you get back home, you’d better tell everyone at the institute to polish up their resumes.”

“I’m sorry to bust your egotistical bubble, Mr. Devlin, but you are not the only player in the investment game. I’ll find new investors. Real ones.” Investors who weren’t out of their minds. “Nobody at the institute is going to have to lose their jobs. Nobody!”

“If you don’t agree, there’s not an investor in this country—or beyond—who’ll want to touch the Armstrong Fertility Institute when I’m finished.” His voice was low. Flat. “Every-one—and I mean everyone—will know how badly your own brother embezzled from the company. Derek couldn’t even stick to just draining from your operational funds. He had to take from the research grants, too. And he did it for years, right under your noses. You think you weathered tough times when the institute was accused of using unauthorized donor sperm and eggs? When you were accused of inflating the in vitro success ratios? That was a cakewalk. You don’t have only patients to lose. You’ve got the respect of every medical and scientific community to lose. Everything your father ever worked for.” His black gaze didn’t waver. “The institute won’t just disappear quietly into the night like a fine business that has seen a natural end of life. It’ll blow up and the toxic fumes will never fade. Not even your very capable PR fixer, Ramona Tate, will be able to spin you out of this.”

The chicken salad they’d had for lunch swirled nauseatingly inside her. “How did you know about Derek? From Ted?” She would have staked her reputation on Ted’s loyalty to the institute.

She had staked her reputation on it.

The look Rourke gave her was almost pitying. “Ted Bonner has never betrayed anyone or anything, least of all the Armstrong Institute.”

“Then how did you come across such privileged information?”

“There are some things that even the venerable Armstrong family can’t hide,” he said, leaning toward her. “Do you really think that I would consider investing in the institute without knowing exactly what I’d be getting into? I made it my business to know as soon as Ted called to set up a meeting with you. I didn’t get to where I am by being naive, Lisa.”

“Did you get there by resorting to blackmail to get what you want?” She was shaking and very much aware that he hadn’t answered her. “Or are we just special that way?”

His smile was cold. The wolf in full, ravenous mode, greeting Red Riding Hood right at the door. “Oh, princess, you are definitely special. And don’t consider it blackmail when we’re all getting something we want out of the deal.”

Fury bubbled inside her, vibrating through her voice. “You met me yesterday with no intention of investing.”

He didn’t deny it.

“So what happened between yesterday and today? Some angel visit you in your dreams and tell you it was time for an heir?” She struggled to keep her voice down.

His gaze drifted from her face, down her body, and back up again. “Something visited me in my dreams,” he allowed.

There was no mistaking his implication and she flushed so hard, she was practically seeing him through crimson.

Or else that was her fury.

She’d never been so close to losing control. She wanted to yell and pound her hands on something.

He would make a satisfying target.

She took a deep breath, waiting until her vocal cords didn’t feel as if they were strangling her. “I have no intention of being your broodmare, and even less intention of allowing you to ruin my institute!”

“You might want to think about it,” he suggested, when she turned on her heel and started walking away from the fountain. “I’ll give you until tomorrow afternoon. That’ll give my media director time to leak the…appropriate news.”

He’d been talking with his media director for much of their drive to Greenwich. She felt even sicker. She looked back at him. “Appropriate.”

“Don’t agree to my…proposal—”

“Proposal!” She snorted. “Insane proposition, maybe.”

He barely paused over her interruption. “—and it’ll be just as I’ve described. A hailstorm of disaster will come down on the institute by the time people tune into the evening news. But if you do agree, I’ll work equally hard at ensuring the world never knows what sort of thievery you have going on in your family. And the only thing in the news will be a human interest blip about our upcoming marriage.”

She hated, absolutely hated the fact that there was a stinging burn deep behind her eyes. There was no way she’d show any sort of weakness in front of this man. “Why should I trust you?”

He held up his hand. “Scout’s honor.”

She stared at him, her hands curling and uncurling at her sides. “I’ve never come as close to wanting to hit someone as I am now.”